by Diane Allen
‘About time.’ Tom looked up from the bucket of blood that he was stirring below the pig’s cut throat. Its body had been stretched upside-down from the pig-hull’s beams, and the butcher was just securing its feet tightly, before shaving the animal free of its bristles and then removing its head and innards. ‘Here, take this and keep stirring until it’s cool, else it’s no good to no man, if it starts to clot. Dan, go across to the house and wait outside until your Aunt Agnes gives you some boiling water. Jim will need it to scald the bristles off.’
‘Yes, Uncle.’ Dan grinned at Meg as she nearly retched at the smell of death all around her, then took the bucket from her father and started walking back to the farmhouse with him by her side. ‘I’ve never seen a pig-killing before. The bloody thing didn’t half scream.’
‘You’d scream if you had your throat slashed open. The poor creature.’ Meg concentrated on keeping the bucket of blood level, and paid no attention to Dan’s cold-blooded comments on the pig’s demise.
‘Your father said I did well to watch, and that I’d know what to do next time,’ Dan said as they reached the kitchen.
‘You might not be here next time. We only kill a pig once a year. That’s a long time away – things might have changed.’ Meg put the bucket of cooling blood down and sat on the porch shelf, stirring her abhorrent mixture.
‘Oh, I’ll be here, I mean to stay. Besides, give it a few months and your father won’t know how he’s done without me,’ Dan smirked as blood splattered onto Meg’s face.
‘Mum, Dan needs some of that boiling water for the butcher,’ Meg yelled as she stared at her new rival.
‘You needn’t do that job next year. I’ll be doing it, along with anything else that your father sees fit to give me to do. He’s a grand fella, is your father, I respect him already.’ Dan smirked as his aunt brought him a bucket of boiling water. ‘Thank you, Aunt Agnes, and can I say how much I enjoyed my breakfast this morning, and thank you again for the loan of these clothes. I look quite the young gent.’ Dan winked at them both. He was already planning to stay longer than he had intended with the Oversbys.
‘That’s no problem, Dan; after all, you are Anne’s son, and it is the least we can do, under the circumstances.’ Agnes looked at her nephew and then glanced at Meg, who appeared anything but happy as he walked away with the steaming bucket of water. ‘Well, I’ll give him this: at least he has manners, that lad. Now, you keep stirring that for another few minutes and then come in and help me. Leave the men to it this year. After all, there’s now three of them, and I could do with you in the kitchen.’
Meg bit her tongue. She could see that she was going to have to stand her ground when it came to Dan, else her place in the family was at risk. Why had the bloody lad turned up, and when was she ever going to get to Swaledale again to see Sam? And would he still want to see her, after her non-appearance?
8
The pantry at Beck Side was full to the brim, after a busy week of cooking by Agnes and Megan. Both of the pig flitches were curing in a zinc bath full of brine, and the black pudding was baked, along with the brawn made from the pig’s head. Tasty patties called ‘savoury ducks’, made of the pig’s liver, pork and herbs, had been enjoyed at teatime, and everybody was full and content as they sat outside on the garden wall, looking down the dale as the sun slowly faded below Stagg’s Fell.
‘Well, lad, it looks as if you are not going down with anything, else it would have shown by now.’ Tom puffed on his pipe and sat back. ‘Mother, tomorrow you’ll have to make up the spare room for him. Dan can come and live with us properly, now we know that he’s fit.’
‘I was thinking that myself. It’s partly done already. I’ll just put some clean sheets on the bed and then you can call it your own.’ Agnes smiled as she concentrated on her knitting, which she had brought outside with her. ‘This is coming on nicely.’ She lifted the stitchwork up for everyone to see. ‘It’s a pullover for you this winter, Dan. You brought nothing with you when you came, and we can’t have you freezing.’
‘You all look after me far too well. I can’t thank you enough. My mother was right when she said my true family was here. I only wish she was here, too.’ Dan dropped his head and then looked up at Meg secretly, with a slight smile on his face.
‘It’s funny how she never came to visit us – your mother. That is, if she loved it here so much,’ Meg commented casually, aware that Dan was playing on her father’s feelings.
‘It would be his father that stopped Anne. He was the one who split us up in the first place. He never did like me,’ Tom spat.
‘That’s right, my father didn’t like country ways. It’s a good job I take after my mother, isn’t it? That I appreciate all this around me, and the kindness shown to me.’ Dan looked bashfully at his uncle and then sneered at Megan.
‘I’m going for a quick walk up the fell before it’s dark. Clear my head.’ Meg stood up; she was sick and tired of listening to the perfect Dan and of his love for his new family. How long would he be prepared to keep his false face on? Because she was sure it was a false side of Dan they were seeing. She remembered all too well Dan arriving on the Sunday she was alone with him, and watching him as he realized that he had landed on his feet. Now he was even trying to hide his terrible, grating accent, which she found so annoying, so that he fitted in with the three of them. And as for making himself useful, well, wherever her father went, so did Dan. It was ridiculous!
She drew breath as she climbed the steep pasture that opened out on to the heather-clad moorland. There she stopped and sat on a limestone boulder that had been left there since the Ice Age; it was a place she often went to when she was worried or needing peace. She looked around her: the oil lamps and candles in the dale’s houses were just starting to be lit, and she watched as one by one, like stars, they twinkled down in the valley below.
Tomorrow she was to go into Swaledale; at least Dan hadn’t taken her place when it came to taking the cheese and butter over there, although she was surprised that he had never offered to go in her place, or that her father had not told him to do so. It was probably only because her father liked a drink at the King’s Head with his cronies to catch up with the gossip, away from his home life. No doubt Dan would be talked about and would be introduced to them soon enough. She knew it was only a matter of time before he replaced her on the weekly trip. However, tomorrow she was going. And come hell or high water, she would make her way to the sycamore tree halfway up the fell, in the hope that Sam would be waiting for her there, even though she was a week late.
A shiver went down Meg’s spine as the night suddenly decided to close in. Autumn was on its way, she thought, as she looked up at the stars starting to appear, and soon it would be too cold to wander and get lost in her own thoughts. Instead she would have to share the warmth of the kitchen with the cuckoo in the nest: Dan. Although he was always pleasant to her, she had really grown to dislike the lad in the last week. Perhaps it was jealousy, as her parents were making a fuss of him; but no, she knew it was more than that. Dan was sneaky and was play-acting for attention – of that she was sure. No doubt he would show his true colours eventually, she thought, as she hastily picked a bunch of the newly flowering purple heather for her mum, before wrapping her shawl around herself and making her way back down to the farmhouse.
‘Things don’t look good, lass. That’s the doctor’s gig outside the shop. He must be visiting Mary. I’m amazed that she’s still on this good earth – I thought she was about to leave us last week, when your mother visited her.’ Tom urged his horse to stand next to the doctor’s black horse and gig, to let Meg climb down with her basket. Then, noticing that the bedroom curtains were pulled, he stayed in the gig and looked down at his daughter. ‘Stay there. I’ll stable the horse at the King’s Head and then I’ll join you.’
Meg nodded her head and caught her breath. She’d never seen a dead person before, and was thankful that her father was going to come into the shop wi
th her. With her basket of butter on her arm, she leaned against the small wall that surrounded the shop’s entrance and waited.
The shop’s bell rang as the door was opened and she watched as the doctor, along with Harry Battersby, came out of the door. She smiled at them both, but said nothing as the doctor spoke to Harry.
‘You did all that you could for her, Harry. She couldn’t have wanted better care. Now you’ve got to look after yourself – she’d want you to do that.’ Meg watched as the doctor patted Harry on the back, before climbing up into his gig. Harry, who was usually a strong man, looked crippled with grief as he wiped away tears and thanked the doctor for doing his best. Meg felt her legs go weak and her eyes fill with tears of her own as she realized that Mary Battersby, her adopted Aunt Mary, had died.
She watched as the doctor drove his horse and gig away and then walked over to Harry. She spoke softly and put her hand on the distraught man as he turned to her. ‘I’m sorry. I overheard the doctor. Aunt Mary’s passed, then? Perhaps it was for the best, as she was in a lot of pain.’
‘I don’t know what I’m going to do. I lived for her. I’m nothing without her.’ Harry cried and wiped his eyes with his handkerchief. ‘I’m sorry, Meg, you shouldn’t see me like this.’ He blew his nose and tried to smile at the young girl he’d known since she was born. ‘You’ve brought the butter, I see. Are your father and mother here?’
‘My father is. We saw the doctor’s gig and thought something had happened to Aunt Mary, so he’s just stabling the horses and then he’ll be here.’ Meg linked her arm through Harry’s and walked with him into the shop. ‘Here, I’ll put the kettle on while you sit down and gather yourself. Do you want me to put the “Closed” sign up at the shop window and pull the blinds?’ she asked, as she walked through to the back living quarters.
‘If you could, lass. I feel all of a dodder. I knew Mary was dying, but I didn’t expect her to go so fast, when it did come. She seemed to be a bit better yesterday, and then this morning she was in agony. I didn’t know what to do for her.’ Harry broke down once again as he sat in his chair, next to the dwindling fire that Meg was adding logs to, as she placed the kettle above it. ‘She was screaming for mercy, and there was nothing I could do.’
‘Well, she’s at peace now. And she knew how much you loved her, so you must not feel any guilt.’ Meg got three cups from the china cupboard and placed them on the table, before walking through into the shop. She pulled the blinds down on both windows and was turning the sign in the shop’s doorway to ‘Closed’ when her father walked in.
‘She’s gone then? How’s Harry? He’s going to miss her.’ Tom patted his daughter’s shoulder as he saw tears in her eyes.
Meg sniffed and wiped her cheeks. ‘Yes, she’s gone, and Uncle Harry’s heartbroken,’ she replied as she smiled wanly at her father.
‘It’s for the best. I wouldn’t have put a dog through what she’s been through these last few weeks. Now we’ve got to look after the living.’ Tom looked at the basket of butter that Meg had put on the shop counter. ‘Put that in the pantry, Meg, and give Harry and me a minute or two together. He’ll need to talk.’
Meg nodded her head. She understood; the two men would not want her as they shared their feelings together, and she was grateful to be busy while they probably said their goodbyes to the dead woman upstairs. She just hoped that she wouldn’t be asked to do the same.
She placed the butter in the pantry, along with the cheese that had been left on the shop’s counter from the previous day. She looked around her for other jobs to do, as she heard the floorboards above creak and the muffled voices of her father and Harry talking as they looked down on the departed Mary. The shop was in a state – goods were partly unpacked, and what baking there was on the counter was not fit to eat. Harry had obviously not been coping, with his wife being ill and with running the shop on his own, she thought, as she tidied around her. It had always been a good business, and Harry and Mary had been happy with their lives there. As a child, she had stopped the odd night with them and had loved playing shopkeeper with her ‘Aunt Mary’, weighing sweets out and helping to serve the customers, with Mary’s help.
The memories came flooding back as Meg stocked the shelves and swept the floor. She’d enjoyed her time there; the smell of paraffin and carbolic soap always reminded her of the shop, as it was those smells that had hit her in the morning when she made her way down the cold stone steps into the Battersbys’ back living quarters, to sit in front of the blazing fire in her nightdress, a luxury she was never allowed at home. They had been good times, and now they were gone, because Harry would never run the shop without Mary; that was obvious to everyone.
She stood with the brush in her hand and looked round the shop, then glanced at the clock on the wall: half-past one, the hands told her. She realized that even if she left now, she’d not be in time to meet Sam, even if he had been there waiting for her. That was two weeks on the trot that she hadn’t made it to meet him. He’d definitely think she was not interested in him, which could not be further from the truth.
The sound of her father and Harry coming down the stairs made Meg regain her thoughts on what she was about, as she finished sweeping the wooden floor.
‘Meg, do you want to go up and say goodbye to Mary?’ Her father walked into the shop. ‘She looks peaceful – you’ve nothing to fear.’ Tom looked grey and sombre.
Meg shook her head. ‘No, I prefer to remember her as she was.’
‘Right, I understand. Come through and make us that drink you were on with. The kettle’s boiled – I’ve just put it to one side.’ Tom turned and walked back into the living space in which Mary and Harry had lived quite happily, all their married life.
Meg was relieved that she had not been made to go and see Mary. She was frightened of the dead and had dreaded having to show her respect.
‘You are not going to see her then, Meg?’ Harry looked up, his eyes red with tears.
‘No, I hope you don’t mind.’ Meg waited for the kettle to reboil and looked at the crestfallen man.
‘No, it’s happen best that you don’t. She isn’t laid out yet. Old Mrs Stavely will be coming to do that for me, and your father’s going to call on his way back home to tell her. She lives in the last cottage, going out of the village. I don’t know what I’d have done if you two hadn’t come when you did. I’d probably have broken down and done nothing. I can’t think straight, let alone put my mind to doing anything.’ Harry shook his head and then placed it in his hands as Meg poured the tea.
‘Do you want something to eat, Harry? Meg here will make you something.’ Tom looked at his old friend. Harry was in such a state that he didn’t know what to do.
‘No, that’s the last thing I want. I just need my Mary back. I can’t face life without her, and she’s always been there for me,’ Harry sobbed.
Meg looked at her father as she sat down. She didn’t know what to do.
Tom nodded his head in the direction of the door, signalling for her to make herself scarce while he comforted his friend. She needed no further prompting, as she understood what he meant and gladly left the grieving house behind her, walking out into the small village of Gunnerside and the afternoon sun. She walked past the King’s Head and past a row of small miners’ cottages until she came to the bridge that crossed the Gunnerside Gill and looked up towards the head of the beck, thinking of Sam and hoping that he had not thought she had forsaken him.
High above her, she could hear the sound of the men at work in the lead-mines. The fell was being burrowed into by an army of lead-miners; like ants, they were. And Sam and Jack were two of them, Meg thought, as she listened and leaned back on the bridge, looking round at the small village green and the cottages that surrounded it. Where did their mother live, she wondered, and what was she like? She obviously spoilt her boys, judging by the conversation she had heard in Hawes on her earlier visit.
Meg decided to walk up the path she had taken t
o meet Sam, passing the blacksmith’s and the newly built Literary Institute, which was not yet open and which would shortly be used to widen the knowledge of the miners and their families of an evening. Then she walked up to the last cottage at the side of the gill. There she could just see the leaves of the sycamore tree under which she should have met Sam, between the dip of the fells. At the last cottage she stopped for a moment and held back her tears. She’d been full of hope when she had set off this morning. Although she had known that Mary had been ill, the thought of seeing Sam had gladdened her ride into Gunnerside. But now it seemed that she had lost both loves.
‘Are you alright, lass? Nowt the matter, I hope?’ A voice came from the garden next to the cottage.
Meg turned to see the woman whom she knew to be Sam and Jack’s mother looking at her worriedly.
‘There’s not been an accident up there, ’as there? I’ve not heard owt.’ Betty Alderson came to the garden gate and looked at the obviously upset young lass, who was shedding tears on the path outside her house.
‘No, no, there’s been no accident. I’ve just come from the grocery shop to get some fresh air. Mrs Battersby passed away this morning. My father’s comforting her husband.’ Meg sniffed and fought back the tears, which were shed both for Mary and in self-pity.
‘Aye, dear, she’s been bad for a long time, ’as the poor woman. A right martyr she was; you could see her getting worse by the day. I don’t know what Harry will do with himself now. The shop’s already gone down this last week or two, as his heart’s not been in it. Are you related to them, then?’ Betty quizzed.
‘No, she was my mum’s best friend, but I always called her “Aunt Mary” because she was more of an aunt than my real one.’ Meg smiled.
‘That’s families. I’m sorry for your loss, lass. Do you know when the funeral will be? I’ll have to go.’ Betty stopped at her gate.
‘No, not yet. I expect it will be sometime next week.’ Meg paused. She wanted to ask about Sam and Jack, but knew it was a bit flippant, after the conversation she had just had. Then her heart got the better of her. ‘How’s Jack and Sam?’
